The Nature of Water and Regret
by PseudonymousMouse
Summary: How different would Season 3 have been if Andy hadn't run into Sam at the Alpine?
1. Chapter 1

**Rated T for some intense, dark imagery and occasional swearing.**

* * *

The first time he wakes he thinks he's dead.

There's nothing - just black and an absence of noise and sensation...so, death.

He doesn't even notice when he sinks back under...

...

The next time he swims to consciousness the darkness is shot through with sparks and sound - an overwhelming pulsating roar that fills his ears and pounds through his skull - comes from _inside_ his skull, obliterating thought...

He's pulled under again.

(He fights to stay, but he's drowning...struggling to the surface only to be dragged back - over and over again)

...

Finally he's awake, _aware, _long enough for thought instead of just impression and sensation -

Breathing hurts_. _

_Everything_ fucking hurts...

He can hear scraping, dragging, shuffling. Glass shatters and a voice utters a curse - he's not alone and the knowledge terrifies him. Why_?_

_(He knows that voice...)_

This time when he's pulled back under, he doesn't fight.

...

The next time he wakes he learns more -

His arms are bound with chain...

A bag over his head makes it dark as night and makes him fight to breathe...

His knee and hand throb and his ribs ache...

His head feels like it's being crushed in a vise...

His lungs and throat burn...

He remembers water...

...

It's this last detail that allows him to shake off the fog and put all the pieces together -

_He's still in the goddamned farmhouse with Brennan..._

(Memory comes rushing back)

_...He's here because of God's Good Grace_.

* * *

He remembers now...

An explosion of pain at his temple.

Tumbling down a staircase and waking bound and blind.

Water...so much water that he wished he could drown all the way and be done.

Brennan's righteous anger and regret.

...

Next came his own anger - _How dare this murderer preach about injustice? _So he'd done some preaching of his own.

Drowning in his own hypocrisy, Brennan gave him the means for his escape. One swing was all it took for opportunity to come knocking and he took it. He was down and free and the fight was on.

Outweighed and out reached, his body broken and bruised, it wasn't much of a fight. He wasn't surprised when it ended with Brennan's forearm locked tight across his windpipe.

Sinking into darkness, his thoughts stretched out into a kaleidoscope of images, there for an instant and gone...

_A dark-haired woman with tired eyes; black clumps of earth falling on a gleaming wooden box; a tall man handing him a spoon; tear tracks on a beloved face; long, curly chestnut hair shining in the sun; red and blue lights strobing against a dark sky; blue eyes like a summer sky twinkling with laughter; a brown ponytail swaying gently; sparkling glasses raised in welcome; flashing brown eyes drawing him in; a wide, brilliant smile; then..._nothing.

* * *

Andy closes her eyes and concentrates on breathing deeply and evenly, aggressively forcing back the bile that's trying to rise in her throat. When she's sure she has control, she opens her eyes and refocuses on the crime scene pictures tacked to the wall, desperate to find something, anything, that will give them a clue to where Sam might be.

It's been almost thirty-six hours since they learned something happened at Sam's cover apartment, his last known movements captured on camera as he left in the company of a remorseless killer, blood left pooling on the stairs grim evidence that he didn't leave willingly.

In the last day and a half the full resources of 15 Division and Guns and Gangs has been brought to bear on Jamie Brennan, producing dozens of potential leads as to where Sam could've been taken, all of them dead ends.

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she gulps down her now-cold coffee and drops into a chair beside Traci. Pulling over a folder, she ignores the bitter gnawing in her stomach and braces herself to look once again at the horrific evidence of Brennan's past crimes.

_If only,_ she thought, _if only she'd spoken up sooner, had been brave enough or less blind, Sam would be here now, safe - would be with her._

The last month has been hard for Andy, lonely and disheartening.

Four weeks ago, after bearing witness to a stranger's unrealized dreams, she'd finally plucked up the courage to grab fate by the hand, only to be stymied by poor timing.

Andy had already come to see that Luke's infidelity, while devastating and humiliating at the time, saved her from making a terrible mistake. They had cared for each other, even loved each other to a degree, but not enough in the long run to make either of them truly happy.

She'd chosen him because she thought she wanted safe and easy. Sam was the opposite of Luke in every way - he was passionate, intense and unpredictable. She could admit that she'd been scared of the instant, visceral attraction she felt for him. Instead of acting on her instincts, she'd overthought everything and ignored her gut which had been pushing her toward Sam from the start.

The last time she'd seen Sam, she'd just saved Leslie Atkin's life. Learning later that she'd died anyway opened Andy's eyes to the folly of saving the good candy and champagne for later - five, ten, twenty year plans looked good on paper, but guaranteed nothing.

Leslie's death had galvanized her, forcing her to finally admit her feelings for Sam.

That last day before he'd gone undercover, though it was spent chasing a child abductor through the city and she'd almost burned to death (_if I'd known the car was going to catch on fire..._), she'd been happy. It was one of those wonderful, fulfilling days that made her proud to be a cop.

Most of all though, it had been perfect because of whom she'd spent it with - Sam.

From the moment she'd tackled him (_and tried to kiss him_ followed automatically in her head now, no matter how many times she protested) he'd made her heart pound, her breath quicken and her skin tingle.

He could calm her down or fire her up. One quirk of his lips could infuriate or elate her.

His eyes, a special blend of calm intensity which seemed able to see straight inside her, were the first thing she sought when entering a room or when she was unsure of herself.

By turns sweet and considerate (_Do_ _you want to talk about it?) _or encouraging and reassuring (_You're ready_..._If you can't trust yourself...trust me_), he always seemed to know exactly what to say.

Often ready with a sarcastic retort _(Are you allergic to silence?)_ or a cocky comeback _(Why would I? You took me down and I'm awesome!)_, the one thing Sam didn't do was bore her.

His magnetic smile, usually directed at her if seldom seen by others, could always draw a return grin from her, and his dimples (along with memories of his hard, sexy, muscular body) had played a starring role in her dreams for much longer than she would ever admit.

After leaving Sam a message that she wanted to make the next three weeks count and taking a cab to his house, she'd waited for an hour in the cold before giving up for the night. She'd returned to Traci's home determined that in the morning she would seize the day and tell him she was ready.

She'd gone into work the next day with a bounce in her step and a lightness in her heart only to learn that Boyd had moved the undercover up and Sam was already gone. For the rest of the day she'd veered between despair that she'd waited too long and fury at him for leaving without contacting her.

Talking late into the night with Traci, Andy poured her heart out, acknowledging that she'd known of Sam's feelings for her but had taken for granted that he'd always be there waiting. She knew she had no right to be angry with him. He'd warned her he was going and she could see now that he was looking for a sign from her that she wanted him to stay.

Traci convinced Jerry to speak to Boyd and he'd confirmed that Sam was gone by the time Andy'd called and left her message. He'd had no reason to call her - he must have thought she'd made her choice and, once again, it wasn't him.

_The truth was, like Leslie Atkins, she'd thought she had more time._

Andy's pulled out of her thoughts by the arrival of Luke, Jerry and Best. Everyone at Fifteen's been working around the clock, following up leads and going over Brennan's file.

Luke glares at her for a moment before his gaze softens. "You should go home and get some sleep, Andy. You won't be doing anyone any good if you're asleep on your feet."

She looks at him incredulously. "I'm not going anywhere until we find Sam."

The three men exchange a look. She knows what they're thinking: the chances of finding Sam alive are getting slimmer with every hour that passes.

Dropping her head back down, she rips open the folder, determined to absorb every detail if it means getting a lead. After all, she reasons, she only has to look at it. Sam has to endure it.

* * *

Waking up the first time around, he'd been completely disoriented until the hood was pulled off and he could see.

This time he knows exactly what's happening, but clarity doesn't bring relief. Finding himself bound and blindfolded at the mercy of a remorseless killer is not something he'd ever thought to experience again, yet here he is. _Back for round two._

"Good, I was starting to worry." The bag's yanked off his head. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.

Brennan's grinning at him from only a few feet away.

_Deja vu._

That first time Brennan'd faked a good-buddy bonhomie that had him thinking for a few minutes that he could talk his way out. He'd ignored the glint of malice in the other man's eyes and pretended a confusion he didn't feel. _"So what am I doing here?"_

He doesn't have to pretend confusion this time - _Why hadn't Brennan finished him off?_

Ignoring Brennan for the moment he looks around. It's still dark, but a pale glow silvers the air revealing a kitchen this time - he can just make out cracked linoleum, ancient appliances and a counter with a sink and a few glass jars scattered on top.

Seeing the jars brings back memories of drowning and he flinches. Brennan follows his eyes; laughs. "That scares you, doesn't it?" then nods, answering his own question. "It should."

Brennan straightens up, crosses to the sink and turns on the tap.

When he hears the water drumming on the metal basin, he panics. He can't help it. A primal fear surges through him and he struggles to get up; get away. His arms are stretched under the chair arms and secured behind the chair, and Brennan watches with interest and no little amount of amusement as he yanks helplessly at the restraints.

Finally, Brennan laughs and shuts the water off.

"You won't get out this time. Chain, not rope." He gestures with his chin and grins, "That chair? It's mahogany. And no matter how mad you make me, I won't kill you quick and easy."

He walks over and stops, leaning down to get right in his face, blue eyes glittering in the darkness. "You're not going anywhere."


	2. Chapter 2

He walks over and stops, leaning down to get right in his face, blue eyes glittering in the darkness. "You're not going anywhere."

* * *

Pretending to be unimpressed by Brennan's posturing, Sam leans forward as far as his chained arms allow, trying to get an idea of where he is through the small kitchen window. He sees only trees and a weathered fence leaning drunkenly, it's jagged teeth disappearing into a snowdrift. There's no sign of life, just a blanket of undisturbed snow rising to the horizon. The small piece of sky he can see is dark grey rather than the black of night, but there's no way to tell if it's from city lights or approaching dawn.

Brennan steps back and he relaxes, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

Suddenly, Brennan shifts and pivots, then drives his foot into Sam's chest, sending the chair toppling backwards onto the floor. Instinctively stretching his manacled hands behind him to break the fall, he hears as much as feels his left wrist snap as he crashes down.

He barely has time to register what's happened before Brennan is crouching beside him and dropping a black cloth over his face. All thoughts of pain and broken bones become secondary as cold fear washes over him. Thrashing his head from side to side he manages to dislodge the cloth only to find his gaze drawn to the jar in Brennan's hand, the water inside sloshing around.

Brennan shakes the jar around and they both watch as the water swirls. "This isn't as showy as knives and power tools."

"But, see...straight up pain gives some people...guys like you...something to fight against, right? Gives you something to sink your teeth into - makes you defiant, angry..."

He leans down and whispers in his ear, as though they're sharing a secret. "Let's you pretend you're not scared shitless."

Straightening up again he continues, relaxed, like they're having a beer and conversation at a bar after work. "I was in the pen, about - oh...twenty years ago, and I grabbed this ratty old paperback off the book cart to show I was "serious about rehabilitating myself". It was by this Green Beret who'd been captured by the Vietcong - he'd been tortured, starved and beaten...but he said one of the worst things they did was what they called The Water Cure."

Brennan tips the jar forward and pours some water on Sam's face. "He said it was the absolute loss of control that made it so horrible."

Brennan's voice remains calm and rational, but there's an undercurrent now. Sam can't decide if it's admiration or anticipation or both.

"See, pain can be blocked out, ignored; but when you're drowning or being strangled, the body automatically fights back. No matter what you do, you can't stop yourself, can't control yourself. Drowning triggers an automatic panic response in the most primative part of your brain. You can try to rationalize it to yourself, convince yourself that you aren't really dying, or maybe that you really _want_ to die, but your brain will still send out waves of panic and your body will still fight to survive. So it's not just the situation you have no control over...you have no control of your body _or_ your mind."

Brennan smiles. "Ironic, isn't it? I had to go to jail to learn true cruelty."

He stands up and crosses to the sink, taking three more jars and setting them under the tap. He speaks over his shoulder as he starts the water running.

"When we did this yesterday I wanted you to tell me who killed my family."

The jars are full when he turns back. "I believe you now, you know - that you don't know anything useful. Didn't do your homework, did you?" Crouching beside him again, he picks up the black cloth.

"Yesterday you still thought you could get out of this. You thought if you stayed tough, kept talking, your buddies would save you or you'd get a chance to escape." He nods and grins, approving...then shakes his head in mock sorrow. "You came close. You should've hit me harder with the shovel. If you'd tried to kill me, you might be home safe now. Instead you tried to knock me out...disable me...bring me in to pay for my crimes." His tone is mocking now and when Sam looks in his eyes he sees only rage.

"I can't get justice for my family. I accept that now. But I can still get vengeance."

_"Someone_ is going to pay for my family."

_"Someone_ is going to feel the pain and terror they felt before they died."

Lifting the black cloth he drops it over Sam's face again, pressing down and forcing his jaw open.

When the water pours over his face, in his nose and down his throat, he tries to relax, tries to imagine the water is filling him up to carry him away. He tries to _welcome_ it.

Brennan's words cut through the darkness and drop like weights.

"_You_ get to be that someone."

* * *

The sun edges above the horizon, flooding the snowy landscape in icy, pink-orange light. Trees on the edge of the property cast skeleton shadows, their dark fingers reaching toward the farmhouse. As he watches, a breath of wind sends a handful of snowflakes spiralling skyward where they turn into weightless, sparkling gems.

He'd woken suddenly a few minutes ago, finding himself upright again.

His throat feels swollen and raw and his head simultaneously throbs and feels like it's stuffed with cotton. He welcomes the disembodied feeling - Brennan had drowned him over and over, allowing him to catch his breath just long enough to refill the water before starting again, interupting the rhythm only to force him to throw up the water he'd just swallowed.

His body is the last place he wants to be right now.

A gust of wind rattles the window pane, briefly drowning out the intermittent patter of water still dripping off his clothes. He shivers involuntarily and a cloud of frozen breath hangs in the air in front of him for a moment before disappearing.

"This was Maggie's parents old place." The voice startles him and he's instantly alert.

Brennan's standing in the doorway leading to what seems to be the living room, slapping a wooden baseball bat against his palm. "No power here, but that's okay. It's nice to get back to basics sometimes, isn't it?"

He squints at Sam for a moment, appraising.

Stepping further into the room, he hefts the bat, feels it's weight, then takes a couple of practice swings. He nods in approval and grins, "Oh yeah."

Even though he knows what's coming, Sam's helpless to do more than hunch his shoulders and brace himself.

In one smooth motion Brennan brings the bat back against his ear, takes two steps forward and slams the bat into his chest.

A wall of pain shudders through Sam like an electric current and all the air in his lungs is forced out. He swears he feels his heart stutter as every muscle in his body seizes up. Doubling over in agony, he tries desperately to keep hold of himself but can no more control the reactions of his body than he can control the weather.

_He's going to die here_. He feels it down to his bones. He's never been a guy who just gives up but he's sure this is his last day.

Right now he just wants death to hurry up and get here.

After an eternity his lungs loosen enough to allow air back in and he manages to suck in a mouthful of air. The relief is temporary though, as something broken inside him shrieks in protest. His body wars between the two extremes until his oxygen-starved muscles lose the battle and he can draw in a few gulps of air. After long minutes he has enough energy to straighten up, taking the pressure off his shoulders and chest, allowing him to breathe more easily.

At the edge of his vision he sees Brennan's still there, patiently waiting, the bat swinging lazily from his right hand.

Brennan continues speaking as though there'd been no interruption.

"When they died a couple of years ago, it went to her. It would've cost more than it's worth to fix up but Maggie didn't want to sell it. She wanted to keep a part of them."

Brennan's staring at him but it's clear his thoughts are miles away.

As he begins pacing slowly around the chair, Sam struggles to keep him in sight but he can't twist his head far enough and he disappears into the darkness behind him. Even that small movement sends pain shooting through his skull, so he drops his head down and closes his eyes until the pain recedes somewhat, leaving sharp slivers behind his eyes.

Brennan's voice drifts out of the dark; it's dropped an octave and is no longer matter-of-fact, but menacing, sinister...

"You were right before. When you said I didn't deserve them. I tried to straighten up and fly right, but at the end of the day _this_ is me."

As he finishes speaking he lunges from behind Sam who has just enough time to see the bat arcing overhead and brace himself for impact. Brennan has all his weight and momentum behind the swing and when the bat smashes into his left knee it generates an incredible explosion of pain that starburts outward, lighting up every nerve ending his body.

Throwing his head back as a roar of agony forces itself out of his throat, he doesn't see the bat swing down again, just feels his kneecap shatter. Instead of the sharp cracking sound of the first blow, a hollow thud reverberates through the room followed by a wooden clatter as the bat breaks in two in Brennan's hands.

He swallows the rest of the scream as a wave of nausea surges through him. Fighting to hold himself together, he clenches his teeth against the bile rising in his throat. He's afraid if he lets go, he won't survive - it seems he wasn't as resigned to death as he'd thought.

Despite his best efforts, he loses the battle against his churning stomach. Turning his head to the side he vomits buckets of pink-tinged water onto the floor. With each involuntary spasm, his damaged ribs send out a new wave of pain, creating more nausea. The cycle of misery continues until he's so weak he's barely conscious.

He feels like he's been turned inside out and then dropped from a great height.

His head is suddenly yanked up by a fist in his hair and he squints to make out Brennan's face looming in front of him. Sam can see his lips moving but the sound seems to be coming from underwater. If he could just pull his thoughts together and concentrate he might be able to understand the words but he's honestly too tired and wrung out to care.

Brennan must realise that he's wasting his breath because he lets go in disgust and moves away. Sam presses his eyes tightly closed and takes as many long breaths as he can manage. His heartbeat, which's been pounding like a triphammer, gradually begins to slow as his body stops shuddering.

In the sudden quiet he can hear only his own painful, labored breathing and the quiet ticking of snow against the windowpane. The old timbers of the farmhouse creak and groan as wind gusts along the faded siding.

Brennan is leaning with his hands on either side of the sink, looking out the window at the frigid, awakening day. Looking over his shoulder and contemplating his prisoner for a moment, he nods to himself, seeming to come to a decision.

A vein in his temple pulses and Sam sees he's holding the picture of his wife and daughter. "I thought I could change. When I met Maggie I wanted to change. Right? If I turned over a new leaf, it meant I deserved her...deserved them."

"I should've known it was too good to be true. Guys like me, we don't get that lucky. My father was a con, he and my mom hooked up when he was on the outside. I only saw him a few times outside of lockup. He got shot trying to steal fifty bucks from a gas station."

"You wanna know what my mom said when we heard? 'Once a con, always a con. I bet you're gonna be just like him.' I was fifteen and she already had my future written. I don't know who I was trying to kid, thinking I had could escape destiny."

Suddenly, Sam has had enough. "What a fucking cop-out." His voice is so hoarse and weak he has to clear his throat and repeat himself.

"Excuse me? I'm a cop out?"

"Yes. What bullshit." Pulling himself up straight, his voice gets stronger. "Of _course _you're a fatalist. Typical. Every low life criminal I've ever met says it's _destiny._ _Fate. Society made me_. What a cop out. You say you learned to be cruel in jail. Bullshit. That cruelty was already there, inside you. Millions of people read about cruelty and torture and don't go out and do it to others. Countless others experience it and are still decent people."

He knows he shouldn't be provoking him, but right now he really doesn't care. He's not going to just sit here and go down quietly while Brennan passes the buck to everyone else.

"You blame destiny so you don't have to blame yourself. Bullshit. We make choices. We're responsible for our own fate."

Brennan smirks. "So you only have yourself to blame for this." He gestures at Sam. "If you had just left me alone I'd still be trying to stay straight."

"Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn't, but my choice was to try to get justice for the innocent people you killed."

Brennan snorts. "They weren't all innocent".

"Nora Wilson was. Her kids were. You destroyed that whole family but you sit here and feel sorry for yourself because someone killed your family for something _you_ did? What a hypocrite! You have no one to blame but yourself. Not me. Not anyone but _you_."

Brennan snarls at his last words. He fists the front of Sam's shirt and punches him so hard his head snaps back then grabs his hair and slams him backwards onto the hard tile floor. A sun bursts in front of his eyes before receding to a pinprick, then...nothing.

* * *

_Bursting through the door behind Chris and Oliver, Andy sweeps her gun across the room, then advances slowly inside. Letting Oliver clear the room on her right while Chris does the same on her left, she makes her way down the hall until she enters a large room. Keeping her weapon trained in front of her, she can see a seated figure silhouetted in the moonlight streaming through the high front window._

_ Sweeping her hand across the wall beside her, she snaps the overhead light on. The sudden glare forces her to close her eyes, but not before she gets a glimpse of the body in the chair..._

Andy jerks awake abruptly, a scream tearing from her throat. It takes a moment of sheer horror for her mind to register that she's still at The Barn, Sam is still missing, and that the bloody, dead body she saw wasn't him - it was only a dream.

She had gone into the break room to sit down for a few minutes. She just needed to get away from the noise in the rest of the station so she could breathe and clear her head, but after being awake for more than two days straight she was completely exhausted and must have nodded off.

Closing her eyes again, she takes half a dozen long, deep breathes to calm her racing heart.

Looking at her watch now she sees she's been asleep for over three hours. Feeling sudden panic, she rushes out of the room, nearly colliding with Dov who notices her panicked state and holds his hands up to stop her.

"Woah Andy! Slow down, nothing's happened, there's no news." Grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her pushing past him he waits until she looks at him. "I was just coming to check on you, but we were letting you get some sleep. I would have woken you if there had been any reason to."

Andy takes a deep breath and nods. She _was_ exhausted and has to admit that the sleep has done her some good. She isn't refreshed by any means, but she at least feels that she can focus again.

Running her hands over her face and through her hair she forces her mind back to the present.

There has to be something they've missed. They're still going through and interviewing every employee, associate or business contact, legitimate or criminal, that Jamie Brennan has ever known but the list is long and so far they've come up empty.

To all appearances he's been running a straight operation but they know there has to be something he's hiding or why risk kidnapping a police officer?

There's the possibility that Sam hasn't been made and Brennan has taken him for some other reason but no one's been able to come up with what that reason could be. Every person whom they suspect Brennan has killed has been business related.

They just have to keep digging and they'll find the answer. Andy knows that and she isn't ready to give up, she just prays they won't be too late.

* * *

Someone's shaking him, rocking him from side to side, but he's so tired he ignores it until someone slaps him hard enough to make his head spin and he comes fully awake.

Blinking hard, Sam makes out a figure looming above him before he's suddenly yanked upwards as the chair he's in is set upright. His head swims and flops forward onto his chest - he has no energy to do more than breathe. After a moment he feels something hard pressing against his chest, nudging his head up. When he cracks his eyes open again and focuses, he sees it's a gun.

When he's sure he has Sam's attention, Brennan steps backwards until he's leaning against the wall. They stare at each other for several minutes before Brennan starts speaking.

"Do you know what its like to give all of yourself to another person and then that person dies? Do you know what happens? They take half of you with them and leave behind only memories and regrets."

"But I don't have enough memories of them. We didn't get enough time. I thought I could live without them, go on. I tried to stick to the straight and narrow for them. Then you came and you know what you brought me? Hope. I thought I could finally get my revenge for their deaths. But I can't...and it wouldn't make a difference anyway."

"Maggie told me that she didn't care about my past, only our present and future. Well, she'd be sickened by what I've done here. You were right. It is my fault. Mine alone. I'm tired of living with regrets. I'm just _tired_. There's nothing left for me here."

"I was going to kill you but I've changed my mind. It's such a fucking cliché but only because it's true - death is easy, life is hard. You seem to be a stand-up guy so I'm going to give you a chance to live."

Sliding down the wall until he was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, Brennan meets Sam's eyes and gives him a tired smirk. "No hard feelings".

Leaning his head back against the wall he puts the muzzle of the gun in his mouth, closes his eyes and without hesitation, pulls the trigger.


End file.
